


Her First Party

by TrashiestPanda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animagus, Bestiality, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, Bisexual Hermione Granger, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fisting, Glory Hole, Golden shower, Impregnation, Kink, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn, Public Nudity, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, Watersports, Why Did I Write This?, impregnation risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-14 22:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19282456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashiestPanda/pseuds/TrashiestPanda
Summary: After spending far too long searching, Hermione finally gets herself invited to the Silver Society, a secret party where students from all four houses get up to things the staff wouldn't approve of. (Well... unless the staff were members themselves, back in the day.) The only downside: A spot of bad luck sees her going in as a servant for everyone else's needs.





	1. Oh, how glorious

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter sets up Hermione's arrival to the party, and sees her learn about sucking. Later chapters will add more partners and more kinks. Open to requests for acts or characters to feature.

Two years. It had taken Hermione two whole years, but she’d finally figured it out. And admittedly they’d been two very busy years - all that mess with the Triwizard Championship,founding S.P.E.W and DA, and having to put up with that awful Umbridge. It wasn’t like this had been her only priority the whole time. She’d have figured it out much quicker if she weren’t constantly dragged into Harry’s drama. She wasn’t stupid, after all.  
It had started early in their fourth year. She’d come back to the dorms one Friday evening to find the place practically deserted. Only Fay and her friend with the exceedingly forgettable name were sitting around, and neither of them knew where the others had gone off to. The same had happened a month later, and a month after that. The last Friday of every month, students from the fourth year and above vanished off on some mysterious errand. They all came slipping back in well after curfew, all giddy, and not a one of them ready to spill a word of where they’d been. And it wasn’t just the girls of Gryffindor. Hermione had started to ask around, to investigate, and quickly learned that the same thing happened in all four houses, boys and girls. And that was when she’d first noticed a pattern in the people who went and the ones who stayed behind. It was the cool kids who vanished, the popular ones, the pretty ones. When every social darling of the school disappeared together for a night and came back smiling that could only mean one thing - they were having some kind of secret party.  
And no one had invited her. Because of course they hadn’t. She knew how people thought of her. And it shouldn’t have mattered, really it shouldn’t. Let them go hang out and drink butterbeer and sleep in late on a Saturday, or whatever they were doing. She was the one with the grades, the prospects, the whole wizarding world open before her. But it did matter. It rankled. She wanted to be part of things, to feel included. So whenever there’d been a spare moment, which wasn’t often, she’d worked on finding out where they met, how someone was chosen to attend. It had been a private little obsession. And when, midway through fifth year, Parvati had let slip a little of what went on at those parties, oh then that little obsession had grown. It wasn’t all butterbeer and wholesome japes, not by a long shot. The Silver Society, as she’d learned they were called, were getting up to things their parents would definitely not approve of.

Which was how she found herself standing in the potions classroom with Crabbe on a foggy Wednesday morning. He’d looked surprised to see her, in so far as his sullen face was capable of showing surprise.  
“Granger. You want something?” His voice was very soft for someone so large. She was surprised it was him that handled the party invites. He’d always struck her as more of a… well, a lackey. Strong, quiet, and in desperate need of someone to point him at a target. Though in hindsight that might just make him ideal for this job. He just needed to know the rules and enforce them without any critical thought.  
“I want an invite for this week.” It was almost the end of the month, and the second Silver Society party of the year was fast approaching.  
“Don’t know what you mean.”  
She’d done her research, prepared for this. She slid a galleon and two silver sickles across the desk, wrapped in a strand of silver ribbon. A token fee for covering some of the supplies the Society’s parties used. And proof she knew what she was talking about.  
Crabbe raised an eyebrow.  
“Oh, for that. You sure? Might not be quite your scene.” It was the longest thing she’d ever heard him say. She could almost have sworn there was genuine concern lurking somewhere in the question. But she hadn’t done all this work to be put off now.  
“Very sure.”  
He gave a shrug, a broad slow gesture.  
“Alright then.” He fished a handful of playing cards out from the pocket of his robe, set them face up on the table. Some battered cards from a standard deck. An entirely mundane, muggle deck, to avoid any tricks with who drew what. Four of the five cards showed kings, the fifth bore a particularly foolish looking joker. Crabbe pushed his sleeves back, flipped the five cards over, and gave them a cursory shuffle before spreading them back out on the table, their faces now hidden. He waited expectantly for her to pick one.  
She’d watched the cards, tried to follow his shuffle, and was almost certain the joker was second from the left. Almost totally nearly certain. He didn’t have the finesse to have tricked it somewhere else, right? And anyway, what pure-blooded bully would deign to use something as muggley as sleight of hand? So, that was the joker. It had to be. Just pick any other card.  
“Come on Granger. Class’ll start soon.”  
If only she’d had a bottle of Felix on hand. But she wasn’t waiting six months to get into a party. She reached out, tapped the card at the far right before she could second (or third, or fourth) guess herself. Crabbe turned over the chosen card and revealed… the joker. Her stomach dropped. How? She could have sworn-  
“Bad luck. The stuff’ll be in your room Friday morning.”  
She didn’t hear any more after that, just staggered out of the room, mind reeling. She’d drawn the wrong card. She was going to have to “take the Silver”, as they put it. She could just not turn up, throw away whatever was sent to her. But she knew the rules - if someone was due to take the Silver and skipped out on it, they’d never be invited to another party, not ever. It kept things fair, made sure everyone stepped up when it was their turn. It was going to be awful, degrading, but it was the only way in.

Hermione stood shivering in an ante-room down in the depths of the school, down below even the kitchens. It wasn’t cold -some minor enchantments saw to that - but she was trembling from nerves. On the other side of the door was what she’d been looking for all this time. The Silver Society party, the place where everyone who was anyone in the student body would be. And when she walked through the door she’d be one of them. At the price of showing off her own student body. The parcel that had arrived in her room that morning had held four things: A delicate silver collar, two phials of liquid, and a set of instructions. The instructions had made the rules for the evening very clear:  
No one was to discuss the events of the party outside of this room, even with other attendees.  
No one below fourth year was permitted.  
No faculty.  
Anyone who’d drawn a joker was to leave their robes and other undergarments in the anteroom and enter the party wearing nothing but the provided collar.  
Anyone wearing a collar must obey, completely, anyone without one.  
It was those last two rules that were the issue. She’d had enough nerve to come to the ante-room, to slip the collar around her neck. She’d left her robe in a box set aside for such things, along with her bra, but now she was frozen. She’d never let anyone see her like this before. Not even Viktor had gotten a glimpse of her pale, perky breasts, let alone anything more. Was she really going to peel off her grey cotton panties and stride right in there? She’d groomed herself, used a variation on _crinus muto_ to tame her bush. Usually as thick and curly as the hair on her head, now she was sporting a neat little brown strip. She was physically ready, but mentally?  
The choice was taken away from her when the door from the hall opened. Ginny stepped in, wearing her robes, though modified to show rather more cleavage than standard, and with a slit up one side, all the way to her left hip. And no sign of a silver collar around her neck.  
“Hermione! I’d heard rumours that you were joining us. I’m so happy you’re here.” The younger girl practically leapt across the space between them, threw her arms around Hermione’s shoulder, pulled her into a tight hug. It was a surreal experience, her friend pressing up against her bare chest. The fabric of the robes was soft against her skin, and she could feel her nipples hardening at the contact. She almost complained when Ginny finally stepped back to take a better look at you. The redhead gave a low whistle of appreciation.  
“You’ve been holding out on us! Who knew you were hiding curves like that? Oh, Ron would sell his wand for a look at these.”  
Hermione blushed, her cheeks and chest flushing a deep red at the other girl’s words. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She’d been imagining hte worst, a room full of leering Malfoys and Parkinson’s scrutinising every flaw on her body. She’d forgotten that people she actually liked would be there, people who weren’t awful. She could do this. She had to do this. Before she could change her mind she slipped out of her panties, chucked them in the box with the rest of her clothes. Knowing Ginny’s eyes were on her the whole time made the whole experience a whole lot stranger, but also more exciting. She was definitely feeling the first hints of arousal warming her body. Shivering didn’t seem like such a problem anymore.  
“Mind if I get a little preview before we go in?” Ginny asked?  
“What?”  
The redhead answered by closing the gap between them again, coming in for a soft, fleeting kiss. As their lips met, Ginny’s right hand found it’s way to Hermione’s ass, gave it a gentle squeeze. The touch sent little waves of electric excitement dancing across her skin. She pushed her hips back a little, to press back up against her friend’s hand for a firmer touch. But as quickly as she’d come in, Ginny stepped back. This time Hermione definitely moaned, a little sigh of disappointment.  
“Mmm, yes, you’re going to do very well tonight I think. But we’ll need to head on in if you want more. And once we’re in there…”  
“Yes?”  
“Well, once you’re in there you’ll have to remember that you’re wearing the Silver tonight. And I’m not.” Ginny gave her a wink, one that was shockingly filthy on her young friend’s usually innocent face. And then she was opening the door and striding into the party.

The Silver Society party was somehow both more and less than Hermione had expected. The room was large, with soft furnishings along one wall, a clear space in the middle where most of the attendees were mingling. The left hand wall had a selection of what looked like dungeon items - a stock, a St. Andrews cross, some low benches. The stocks were occupied by one of the Patil sisters, though she couldn’t tell which one from here. There were perhaps eighty or ninety students there altogether, from all four houses. Most of them had their robes on and were clustered in twos or threes, making conversation and nibbling at finger foods. Draco, Pansy and Crabbe were lounging on some of the chairs, watching the room. She spotted Lavender Brown, Cho, Cormac McLaggen, and Katie Bell among the crowd as well. Even Harry was there. That utter ass. How long had he been in on this, and he’d never once told her? Well, he’d see where that got him next time he needed help with some tragedy or drama.  
More interesting were her fellow silver collars. There were maybe a dozen of those, all naked save for their collars. Angelina Johnson was circling the room, carrying a tray of drinks and snacks for the other members. The girl was an athlete through and through, every inch of her body perfectly toned and absolutely gorgeous. Neville was on his hands and knees, being used as a footstool by a final year Ravenclaw whose name she couldn’t recall. And Susan, busty Susan Bones, she was stood blindfolded in the centre of the room, hands tied behind her, while three boys caressed her truly magnificent breasts. Hermione wished she could touch them herself, but that wasn't her role here tonight.  
“Sorry it’s so tame,” Ginny whispered in her ear, “the real fun starts later.”  
This was tame? She’d never seen so much nudity before. Not in person, anyway. She’d certainly spent her fair share of time examining risque photos in the privacy of her dorm. But a dozen people she actually knew, right there?  
“I’m guessing you didn’t come to serve drinks, let me get you to one of the more fun parts before that awful Malfoy has you cleaning his boots.”  
“He can do that?” A furtive glance confirmed that Draco was indeed wearing some very polished black boots beneath his robes. Apparently he took his fashion tips from the SS.  
“You have a collar on. He doesn’t. He can do anything he wants. Tonight, anyway. At some point he’ll draw a joker. Come on, follow me.”  
Her friend took her by the hand, lead her across the room. People nodded to Ginny as they passed, made polite greetings. But more attention by far was on Hermione. She was new meat, and dozens of pairs of eyes followed her progress. There was nowhere to hide. She tried to slip a hand over her crotch, but Ginny swatted it away. There was no choice but to let everyone study her breasts, her ass, the curve of her slender thighs.  
At the far end of the room were three cubicles, looking for all the world like bathroom stalls. They had floor to ceiling wooden doors, all of which hung slightly ajar. Ginny took her to the middle of the three, the door of which was unusual for having its lock on the outside.  
“What’s this?” Hermione asked.  
Ginny didn’t answer. She pulled the door open, steered Hermione in. Inside it was indeed a toilet cubicle, one decked out in a truly staggering amount of obscene graffiti. There wasn’t time to read all of it as the redhead shoved her inside, but she was sure she saw something etched above the cistern about Nymphadora’s oral talents. The other odd thing about the stall was the small cushion on the floor, a battered old red thing with some slightly alarming stains.  
“Wait, I don’t understand.”  
“You’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”  
The younger girl stepped back, closed the door. A moment later the bolt slid shut.

She was sat on the toilet trying to figure out why on Earth she’d been left in here when she noticed the last, and most important way in which this cubicle differed from a normal one. The walls to each of the adjacent cubicles had holes cut them, one on each side, about as wide around as her fist. They were set low down, right about… oh, right about where her head would be if she were kneeling on that cushion. A lot of things started to fall in to place then. She’d read about these - purely for academic research, of course. She was curious to see how the reality of it compared to the things she’d read.  
It didn’t take long to find out. She hadn’t been in there more than a minute or two when someone entered the cubicle to her left. There was the sound of a robe falling to the floor, the shuffling of feet, and then a cock appeared through the hole in the wall. It wasn’t too big, perhaps five inches long, about as thick around as two of her fingers. But it was hard, so rigid she could make out veins, and the tip was already slick. She stared in fascination, taking in every curve, every ridge. Whose was it? A tuft of trimmed brown hair at the base was about the only clue, and that didn’t narrow it down much.  
She wasn’t here just to look. There were rules to be followed, and she very much doubted the boy on the other side just wanted to show off. He’d be looking for pleasure. Slowly, carefully, she wrapped her right hand around the shaft, resting the other on the wall for support. It was firm, but more yielding than she’d expected, and warm to the touch. She was actually doing this, actually fondling a strange cock. She’d never gone further than kissing with tongues before, and here she was wrapping her hand around an anonymous dick. Well, in for a sickle, in for a galleon. She slid her hand along the shaft, gently at first, unsure how much pressure she could use without hurting it. The guy on the other side began to thrust slowly, pushing back against her hand. She took that as a sign he wanted more, brought her hand back up to the ridge of the head, down the shaft again, firmer and faster this time. Again, and another, and by the fifth stroke he was somehow even harder, his shaft straining against her hand. It was exciting, knowing she could make someone’s body react with just a touch like that. She parted her knees a little, moved her free hand between her legs. She was already getting wet down there and she needed the feeling that her fingers could give her.  
The boy on the other side of the wall quickened his pace, thrusting into her grip, the shaft of his cock starting to twitch. She took her hand away for just a second, spat into her palm before returning it. It slid more easily over him now, smooth motions from the crest of his head down to the base and back. The new sensation was clearly more than he could handle, because a moment later he gave one final thrust and came. It caught her off guard, two thick spurts of hot cum spattering against her chest. A third didn’t quite make it, falling to land on her thigh. His cock gave one last twitch, the last trickles of cum running down the back of her hand, her wrist. And a pleasant feeling washed through her, a satisfied glow that rolled out from the collar in waves. Not quite orgasmic, but close, a magical tickling of her brain’s dopamine receptors. She’d wondered if there was something more than met the eye to the collars and now she knew - they were enchanted to give the wearer pleasure when the wearer gave pleasure to others. The more she got people off, the more the collar would do for her. Maybe drawing the joker hadn’t been quite so bad a turn of luck after all.  
She released the cock, already going soft in her palm, watched it withdraw. There was no sink in here, no paper towels, no way to wash away the cum slowly trickling down her breast. That was almost certainly intentional. Well, there was one way she could think of to clean off a bit. She brought her hand up to her mouth, licked experimentally at the sticky substance there. It was salty, thick, with a slightly chlorine-y smell like ornamental pear trees in the spring. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it definitely seemed like it would be better before it had the chance to cool down.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. A second cock appeared at the hole just minutes after the first had left. This one was much more imposing, almost half again as long, dark skinned, and substantially thicker. And unlike the first, she could take a fair guess at who this one belonged to. Since Lee Jordan had graduated before the summer, Dean Thomas and Blaise Zambini were about the only black guys left at the school. She hoped it was Dean on the other side of the wall, Blaise had always creeped her out.  
Whoever it belonged to, she wanted to get a bit more up close and personal with this one. She wrapped her hand around the shaft again, barely able to make her thumb and forefinger meet. But this time she leant forward on her knees, kissed the tip. It seemed clean, smelled vaguely of soap and just a little of sweat. She followed that kiss up with a lick, darting her tongue out to flick across the underside of the head. Meeting no objection, she came back for another lick, more confident, running down the length of the shaft. It was thick and heavy in her hand, which she shifted down to make room for her tongue, cupping the balls instead. That seemed to go down well, because he thrust forward, almost slapping her in the face with the tip as she made her way back up. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to take things further - the sheer size of it made her nervous. But she certainly intended to try.  
It took everything she had to wrap her lips around the dark, powerful cock. She flattened her tongue, opened her young mouth wide, and just about managed to take the head slowly in, careful not to scrape it with her teeth. She’d heard some guys liked a little bit of that, but that sounded like some advanced level stuff. Right now she just wanted to focus on the basics. With the head of the cock in her mouth she paused, catching her breath, adjusting to the feeling of it. It was weird, but pleasant. She could taste his skin, his sweat, the faintest salty hint of something more. She ran her tongue up and over it, swirling it around the head. He pushed forward and she almost gagged, had to pull her head back before he muscled his way down her throat. She didn’t let it go though, and she was proud of that. She could handle this. What else was meant to feel good? Oh, suction. They called it sucking someone off for a reason, after all. She wrapped her lips tighter around it, began to suck, still working her tongue around the ridge of his head. Her right hand came back up to the base of his shaft, repeating the stroking motion she’d practised earlier. Her left, still pressed between her legs, began to work her own cunt, by now dripping wet.  
Soft grunts came from the far side of the wall, little sounds of pleasure, of need. She wanted more of that, wanted to hear this boy lose control. Lose it because of her. She wanted to be the one who had that effect on someone. She began to bob her head up and down, just slowly at first, an inch or so, two inches. She moved in time with the rhythm of her hand, bringing her lips down to meet her fingers, back again. How long that lasted for she couldn’t say - she lost herself in the repetition of the movement, the sounds coming through the wall, the slick heat between her own legs and the thrill of her fingers on her clit. It might have been a minute, it might have been ten, before things changed. The grunts got faster, the thrusting of the cock more insistent. It pushed right to the back of her mouth, trying to go deeper. There was no way she could take that in her throat, barely any way for her to breathe as he fucked her face. Saliva came trickling down her chin, down his shaft, and her eyes watered. She’d put on some makeup too, for the occasion, that was going to be streaking down her cheeks now. Anyone who saw her would know what she’d been doing.  
She tried to slide back off the cock, to get some breathing room, but there wasn’t time. It convulsed, pushed forward, and he came, explosively. The first shot hit the back of her throat, gave her no choice but to swallow it. A second followed, a third. And that was enough for her, enough to send her right over the edge herself. Her whole body spasmed at the frantic motion of her fingers, the thrill of orgasm blasting her one way, the cascade of pleasure from the collar rushing to meet it. She’d have screamed, if not for the thick slab of meat in her mouth. Even as it was, she didn’t doubt that everyone at the party heard her get off.  
She finally had enough composure to pull her head back a little, just enough to catch another load square on her tongue. She was right, it did taste better still fresh. The cock, still hard, slipped from her mouth, still leaking cum. She leant forward, licked up as much as she could, swallowed it down. Oh dear, the tiny rational part of her mind said, this might just be the start of an addiction. One last kiss to the tip of the cock, a little thank you for the pleasure they’d just shared, and then she let it go.  
She was going to have to think of a very special way to thank Ginny for locking her in here.


	2. Two great tastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is allowed out of her box and discovers it isn't just the boys at the party who want some time with her.

Hermione half sprawled on the floor of the filthy cubicle, her back against one wall. She hadn’t been able to swallow all of Dean’s cum, not by a long shot, and sticky strings of it coated her chin, her chest, her right hand. The collar was still sending little tremors of pleasure through her, a reward for a job well done. She could happily have sat there for a while, catching her breath, processing everything she’d just done. But the attendees of the Silver Society party had other ideas. The door of the cubicle behind her, which until now had been empty, clattered shut. There was the now familiar sound of someone disrobing, and a long cock emerged from the hole, almost directly above her head. She gazed up at it, wondering if she could reach up and stroke him from here, get him off without having to move too much. This one was about as long as Dean’s, but nowhere near so thick, with a thin fuzz of blonde hair on the scrotum.  
She had one arm up to cup his balls - surprisingly heavy, firm - when a second cock appeared at the hole opposite, the one so recently vacated by Dean. Well. She wasn’t going to be able to suck them both at once, and she didn’t want to leave either one waiting. She had to make a good impression if she hoped to be invited back to future parties. And she knew now that she definitely wanted to come back to more parties, whether she drew a joker or a king.  
It would probably be possible to kneel between the two, take one in each hand. She wasn’t sure she trusted her coordination quite enough for that though. And anyway, there was another, much more interesting possibility. Given how much pleasure the collar had provided just for giving someone a blowjob, how much more would it offer if she went further? Granted, this wasn’t quite how she’d imagined losing her virginity - that had always involved scented oils, candles, someone who’d take charge enough to push past her doubts while also letting her guide the experience just so. But circumstances changed, and one had to be courageous in the face of new things.  
With some effort she got to her feet, leaning forward at the waist, supporting herself with one hand against the far wall of the cubicle. With the cushion to stand on, her ass lined up near perfectly with the hole in the wall, with the hard cock protruding through it. She reached back with her free hand, took a grip on the cock to line things up. When she was sure she had everything pointed in the right direction she pushed backwards with her hips, bringing herself closer, letting the tip of the head brush against the opening of her tight pussy. She was dripping wet already from her earlier fun, so turned on the juices were practically running down her thighs. She brushed the head against her clit, slid backwards a little to grind against the shaft, thrilling at the heat of contact.  
Was she really going to do this? Lose it to a stranger? Perhaps that was actually a better way, she rationalised. First relationships often didn’t work out, and if she didn’t know who she’d lost her virginity to then the memory couldn’t ever be tainted by a bad breakup. And she didn’t have to worry about infections - one of the two potions that had come in her party kit was a bottle of _obice perfectus_ , a perfect barrier against all possible disease. Not easy to make, but a guarantee of safety for forty eight hours after drinking.

Afterwards she couldn’t actually remember the moment of penetration. There’d been some discomfort, she was sure, but the ecstasy from the collar had obliterated it, obliterated everything. White heat, passion, a moment in which she was pure id, perfect satisfaction of basic cravings. By the time she found herself again the cock was deep inside of her, moving with slow, steady thrusts. Her ass was pushed back against the cubicle wall, her body not wanting to miss so much as a millimetre of this glorious fullness. No wonder people were so obsessed about having sex. Nothing she’d read or watched could have prepared her for the feeling of hot flesh driving into her, of connecting with another person like that, another body. For long, beautiful moments she just let that sensation fill her, let being fucked become her whole world.  
But there was still the second cock, now jutting inches from her face. It wouldn’t do to leave the poor boy unattended. She reached out for it, no longer surprised by the firm, springy feeling of it in her hand. Her fourth in what couldn’t have been more than half an hour, and already she felt like an expert. She stretched forward, wanting to wrap her lips around it, wanting to feel it, taste it, but not wanting to move away from the glorious thrusting behind her. Stood on tiptoes, legs and back stretched, she took it into her mouth. It was muskier than the last one, with a skinny shaft behind a thick, almost bulbous head. Not nearly so shapely as some of the others. But that didn’t matter. It was hot and hard, and on the side of the wall was someone hungry for pleasure, for the release of orgasm. A pleasure that she had the power to grant or deny.  
She didn’t have to worry about coordination too much. The guy behind her was doing most of the work there, pounding into her with ever-increasing need. All she had to do was hold her ass still, keep her pussy lined up for him. That left her free to work the cock before her, to worship it with her tongue. She caressed every inch of it, from tip to base, with lips, fingers, tongue. She cupped his balls, stroked his shaft, even let the head push against the back of her throat. Easier this time - perhaps it was practise, perhaps it was the tingling pleasure of the collar overriding her gag reflex. The hardest part was keeping focus, not losing herself in feeling. Twice the cock almost slipped from her mouth as she let out a particularly loud cry. Twice she brought it back, redoubled her efforts.

The one in her cunt came first. She felt the rhythm of his thrusts change - swifter, harder, and then one last push, diving deep inside of her. A convulsion that started at the base of his cock, rocketed up, exploding from the tip. For all the books she’d read, for all the hours of study, she hadn’t the words to describe the feeling of someone unleashing their load in her. His cock jerked twice more, filling her with heavy loads of the stuff, a deep warmth in her core. He withdrew from her slick cunt, the ridge of his head sending a judder through her as it left her. Standing was impossible. Everything was impossible except for the cock in her mouth, the cum already trickling down the inside of her legs. Her knees hit the cushion, her head slid forward, and the owner of the second cock chose that exact moment to blow his load. It came out in rapid spurts, not as thick as Dean’s, but too much of it for her to contain. She couldn’t remember how to swallow, couldn’t remember much of anything except pleasure. She let it overflow around his shaft, cum spilling onto her perky young breasts, falling to join the other stains on the cushion.  
After he had withdrawn she let herself sink fully to the floor. It was barely large enough to curl up on, her feet pressed against one wall, her back against the other. But she didn’t have the energy for anything as complex as sitting or kneeling just then. She would happily have spent the rest of her life in that cubicle, taking every cock that came to her, chasing the full-body high of orgasms and the gifts of the collar.  
Somewhere deep inside, a tiny rational part of her still held out, watching proceedings and trying to be sensible about them. That part wondered if she hadn’t just done something very stupid. The second potion she’d received, that one had been _serum gravida consequat_. _Obice perfectus_ had a lot of uses outside sex - a universal barrier against disease was a useful thing to have around. Serum _gravida consequat_ had only one purpose - to prevent pregnancies. Standard for every girl attending a Silver Society party, a way to make sure there were no unintended consequences that might land everyone in trouble. Down both potions and one could fuck to their heart’s content without fear of problems.  
Only, Hermione hadn’t drunk her second potion. She’d had the _obice_ , of course - she didn’t want any kind of nasty infection to deal with. But the _serum_? That had been poured down the sink in the girls’ bathroom. People here were so concerned about blood lines, about purity. If she got knocked up at one of these parties, let them all lose their shit trying to figure out whose bloodline ran in the baby’s veins, how pure it was. That would serve someone like Draco right, getting disowned for tainting the family bloodline with someone like her. At least, that’s what she’d thought as she poured the potion away.  
Now that she actually had a belly full of someone’s cum, she was starting to wonder if maybe she’d been a touch rash. Perhaps the issue might turn out a touch more awkward. It was too late to do much about that now, though. Might as well just lay there, enjoy the moment.

“Hah, I knew you’d love it in the box.”  
Hermione hadn’t heard the cubicle door open, too lost in thought. Ginny stood over her, a smug little grin on her oh so delightful face. An hour ago Hermione would have been ashamed to let her friend see her like this. Naked and covered in cum, makeup smeared, thoroughly bedraggled. That was before, before she understood. Now she just pushed herself up to a sitting position, smiled.  
“You’re right, that was much better than serving drinks.”  
“I know, right? My first time in here-”  
“Wait, you’ve been in here?”  
The redhead had seemed so confident and in charge since they arrived. It was hard to imagine her on her knees, being used, debased. Hard, but not unpleasant. A familiar heat started to grow between her legs, she found herself getting wet at the thought of Ginny swallowing a nice hot load. What would it look like, watching it spatter against her breasts? They certainly filled out her robes well enough.  
“The first time I drew a joker, Katie had me in there literally the whole night. I think I walked funny for days after.”  
“Wait, was that just before last Easter break? I thought you pulled something playing Quidditch.”  
Ginny let out a laugh, pleasant and musical.  
“Sorry, I could hardly tell you what I’d really been up to, could I?”  
“I guess not.”  
“Now let’s get you out of this box. I have something fun in mind for you. And me. Mostly me.”  
Things had gotten a bit more heated while Hermione had been locked in the cubicle. Her fellow students still gathered in little groups, but the conversations had given way to more intimate activity. The sofas were packed with couples and trios looking for a place to fuck. Susan Bones was on her knees, someone inserting what appeared to be a fox-tailed plug into her ass. Almost every silver collar she could see was busy servicing at least one person. Some of them had a queue. What startled her the most was the dungeon area on the far side of the room, where a crowd had gathered to watch Padma and Parvati go down on each other. The twins’ bodies were sweat-slicked from pleasure, perfect, and she’d have given her wand to swap places with one of them.  
Ginny had other ideas though, steering her towards the middle of the room. Along the way she gave a whistle, caught Neville’s attention. He fell into step behind them, head hung, obedient. When they were right in the middle, right where everyone could see them, Ginny gestured for the older boy to lie down on the ground. As he did Hermione caught a glimpse of a hefty looking black plug in his rear. Perhaps it was helping to maintain his erection, which could only be described as prodigious.  
“On your knees,” Ginny told her, “and get ready for when I need you.”  
“How will I know when that is?”  
“Oh, you’ll know. And feel free to entertain yourself while you wait.”  
She didn’t need telling twice. She dropped to her knees, right hand slipping immediately between her legs. Everything was warm, slick, her own arousal mixing with the left over cum. Touching herself with that on her fingers made everything so much more intense.  
Ginny stood with her feet on either side of Neville’s hips, lowered herself carefully down, facing away from him. She hiked up her robes, and with her other hand she took Neville’s cock - vertical and straining towards her - guided it into her. The whole time she never broke eye contact with Hermione. As the cock entered her she gave a bright smile, a wink. That was all it took to send an orgasm bolting through Hermione. It wasn’t the world-obliterating pleasure she’d felt in the cubicle, but it was still amazing, and she wanted more.  
She got more. Watching her friend ride that cock, watching her movements quicken, Hermione didn’t stand a chance of controlling her arousal. Her second orgasm hit as Ginny started to moan in pleasure, as her friend’s face twisted with delight. They’d drawn a crowd of their own by then, a dozen fellow students gathered round to watch. But that was background. All Hermione saw was her friend’s smooth pussy being filled, her face flushing almost as red as her hair as she lost herself in the moment. The whole of Hogwarts could watch her touch herself, as long as she got to see more of this.

It took Neville maybe five minutes to come. It was amazing he lasted even that long, the way Ginny was riding him. Hermione could see it happen, the change in the tempo of their fucking. That’s when she found out what her part in all this was. Ginny pulled herself off his lap, crossed the gap to Hermione in a single step. She pulled the lacing at the top of her robe, let it fall away entirely, and oh but her breasts were perfect, two gorgeous pale curves, perky nipples flush with arousal. She put her right hand on top of Hermione’s head, fingers tangling in her hair. With a gentle but insistent tug she pulled Hermione forward, bring her face level with her freshly fucked hole.  
It didn’t take much thought to know what she was meant to do here. Hermione pushed up and forwards, brought her tongue out to lick her friend. She could taste Neville’s cum, feel it dribbling out into her mouth. But it was mingled with new flavours, the taste of another girl’s arousal. And as much as she’d enjoyed sucking cock in the cubicle, this was better by far. The soft folds of Ginny’s outer lips parted for her, giving her access to her friend’s most intimate parts. She brought one hand up, wrapped her arm around the redhead’s waist, her hand grasping at a toned ass cheek. All that time playing Quidditch had given her friend the kind of ass people wrote sonnets about. She pulled against it, wanting to be as close to that sweet cunt as possible.  
Ginny was gasping, moaning, both hands on Hermione’s head now, not letting her back away, not giving her a moment’s respite. Hermione was more than okay with that. She brought her other hand up, slipped two fingers into her friend as she continued to lap at her clit. She’d never touched a pussy that wasn’t her own before, and she thrilled to the tight warmth of it, the freshly-fucked slickness. Her collar was in overdrive, but even without it this would have been perfect. Would there be a chance to play outside the parties? She didn’t want to wait a month before she could taste her friend again.  
She clearly wasn’t the only one enjoying this either. Other students moved at the edge of her awareness, vague presences, aroused, circling. Footsteps behind her and a sudden warmth as someone came on her back, a hot load landing on her shoulder. People were jerking off watching them, a half dozen boys with their cocks out. For her. They were turned on for her. Another one moved in, shot a load in her hair. She licked Ginny faster, drove her fingers deeper, desperate to get her friend off, to please her audience.  
It didn’t take long. She felt Ginny’s breathing change, felt the tremor build in her hips. Her friend’s grip on her hair tightened, let her know that under no circumstances should she stop. She worked her fingers in a rapid one-two stroke on the sensitive spot just inside her friend’s pussy, licked and sucked at her clit like the fate of the world depended on it. Her reward was a screaming, convulsive orgasm, one that came on so hard it almost gave her whiplash. A blast of liquid, salt-sweet hit her tongue, her chin, spattered against her breasts. She’d heard about this, knew abstractly that it was a thing some people could do, but she’d never managed it herself. She certainly had no complaints being on the receiving end.

They clung together, one standing, one kneeling, both lost in ecstasy, delirious. Long moments where all Hermione could think was “oh, I got her off a lot better than Neville did…”. She suspected that without her shoulders to lean on Ginny would probably have buckled. Every ounce of strength seemed to have left her, an explosive release.  
Finally, reluctantly, they parted. Ginny came down to her knees, gave her a dopey blissed out grin. Her face was still flushed red, her breath ragged. She leaned forward, kissed Hermione, and this time it wasn’t the gentle brush they’d shared in the ante-room. Lips parted, tongues found each other. Someone nipped at the other’s lip, a gentle playful little bite, both too giddy to remember who was the biter and who the bitten. They shared the taste of Ginny, shared everything in that kiss, all boundaries erased. “This is what kissing is _for_ ,” Hermione thought, so many things making sense.  
“You were amazing,” Ginny said, when they finally broke off.  
“I love you,” Hermione said. It wasn't what she'd intended to say, it just sort of slipped out before she could stop it. She blushed, embarrassed to have said it, terrified to realise she'd meant it.  
“Haha, I know what you mean, I loved the way that felt too.”  
Something crashed down inside her, a collapse that pulled her from the moment. She wanted to explain that she hadn’t just been speaking about what they’d just done. She also wanted to hide, to never speak to another person, to pretend she wasn’t feeling the things she so obviously was.  
She didn’t get the chance to do either. A pale, well manicured hand fell on Ginny’s shoulder.  
“Alright, Weasley, you’ve had your fun.” Oh no. Oh very oh no. Hermione didn’t need to look up to see who the hand belonged to. Draco’s supercilious sneer was unmistakable.  
“Back off, Malfoy.” Ginny didn’t stand, didn’t turn to look at him, but a look of fixed determination stole over her face. Hermione would have done anything to bring back the smile that had so recently been there.  
“I assume even someone like you is capable of comprehending the rules. No hogging the new meat. Now move on and learn to share, unless you _want_ to be blacklisted?”  
For a moment Hermione thought - hoped - her friend might fight back. But the moment passed, a released breath, a hung head. Ginny looked at her and silently mouthed an apology before standing, walking silently away. Hermione was left alone, kneeling before Draco.  
“Well then,” he said, “what _shall_ we do with you, hmm, little gryffinwhore?”


	3. Filthy conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is a lot kinkier than the first two. So, y'know, be warned if that's not your thing.

It wasn’t an easy thing to look defiant when you were on your knees, naked, covered in cum. Hermione did her best though, glaring up at Draco.  
“Do what you want, Malfoy, just get it over with.”  
She started to turn, presenting herself to him. If this were going to happen, at least she could get it done with quickly and move back to more enjoyable parts of the evening. Like Ginny.  
“Please, I wouldn’t fuck someone like you with someone else’s dick. I do have standards.”  
“What?”  
“Crabbe, Goyle, take her.”  
There wasn’t time to respond or resist. Two strong hands took her by the shoulders, lifted her bodily off the ground. The Slytherin boys were tall enough that she couldn’t get her feet on the ground, couldn’t do more than struggle ineffectually between them. They marched in lockstep across the room, heading back towards the cubicles where she’d started the night. Was Draco planning to fuck her through the hole in the wall to preserve his pride? Force her to fuck someone else? She could live with that. With the collar pulsing at her throat she might even enjoy it.  
The two lackeys shoved her into the cubicle, pushing her so hard she stumbled, fell to her knees in front of the filthy toilet. She started to turn, but Goyle was right there behind her, his booted foot planted on the back of her neck to hold her in place. Okay, so it was going to be that kind of a thing. That just meant she didn’t have to look up at Draco’s smug face when he slipped it into her.  
Only, he didn’t slip it in. Nor did Crabbe, Goyle, or anyone else. Goyle removed his foot, left her face down over the toilet bowl. Footsteps behind her, the sound of a robe being undone. A long moment where she wondered who was going to take her.  
“Look at you,” Draco said behind her, “so filthy. In desperate need of a wash, I’d say.”  
Then, unexpected, a faint sigh, the sound of pressure being relieved. And suddenly, entirely unwelcome, warm liquid cascading down her back, soaking her hair. It took a second before she understood what was happening - he was pissing on her. That awful pure-blooded ass was actually pissing on her. The liquid pooled in the dimples at the base of her spine, spilled down between her asscheeks. She twisted, trying to get away from it, but that proved to be a terrible idea. Turning just exposed her face, and Draco didn’t waste the opportunity. His aim shifted up, the warm golden stream hitting her between the eyes. She blinked furiously, looked for a way out. Draco didn’t give her one. His slender frame blocked the door to the cubicle, lit from behind.  
“Stay where you are. And open your mouth. If you ever hope to come back.” He didn’t break off his flow, and she didn’t dare disobey. She needed to come back - talking about what happened here was forbidden outside, so this room was her only chance to get intimate with Ginny again.  
Draco’s piss was warm, salty. It should have repelled her, made her gag. Maybe it was the collar, maybe it was some part of her she’d never considered, but it did quite the opposite. As it filled her mouth she found herself more and more desperate to swallow, to gulp down the salty nectar. It was overflowing her mouth, running down her chest, washing away the cum that had been left there. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she… she put her lips together, swallowed a large mouthful. And she was right, he didn’t mind. Far from it, judging by the wide grin that spread across his face.  
“Oh good, you’re finally understanding your place.”  
She couldn’t reply, her mouth was too full. She swallowed down another load, a third, before the stream ran dry. She hadn’t been able to get every drop, and the ran down her chin. She hated herself for enjoying it so much, hated how eagely she’d let him do this to her. Still, she couldn’t help but lick her lips, getting those last few drops. Maybe if he saw how much she’d enjoyed it he’d stay, do more.  
“You remember,” he said, “how I said I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s cock?”  
Yes, here it came. The chance to get some of that oh so vaunted pure blood seed in her.  
“Well, I lied. Crabbe, Goyle. Fuck her.”

Crabbe came first, his broad frame filling the cubicle. There was nothing gentle about him, nothing subtle. He twisted her arm up behind her until she turned, pushed her down against the toilet. With her left arm pinned behind her back, his weight pressing against her, there was nothing she could do. He drove her legs apart with one knee, never giving her a chance to resist. Though at this point she wasn’t even sure that she would have. The more degrading the act, the more the collar seemed to reward her. And there were few things as degrading as this. No foreplay for Crabbe, no hint at all that he cared about her feelings. Just his cock forcing its way into her, pushing deep. If she wasn’t so damnably wet it would have hurt. As it was, she almost welcomed it.  
He took her soaked hair in his free hand, a hollow echo of Ginny’s hands on her head earlier. He tugged her head back, came in low enough to whisper “I cheated the cards.” She was just processing that when he slammed his hips forwards, thrust into her so hard she almost slammed her head on the lid of the toilet. Again, and again, relentless, a physical piledriver. He kept her arm pinned the entire time - her shoulder ached as her body jolted back and forth, but the collar wouldn’t let her care about that. It sent wave after wave of pleasure through her - if anything the pain only amplified it.  
And then it was over. Crabbe was many things, but a man of stamina he was not. Three minutes after he’d entered her he was done, a heavy load of cum unleashed deep inside her. He grunted, withdrew. The last drops dripped from the tip of his cock, falling to trickle down over her tight asshole. He pushed away from her, almost dunking her head into the filthy toilet water as he stood.  
Goyle was, somehow, worse. His cock was thicker, longer, pushing deep inside of her. His hands were calloused, rough, and he kept one on the back of her neck the entire time he rode her. But by then she didn’t care, she was lost in a rolling orgasm, driven by the collar, a machinegun stutter of pleasure and convulsions that reduced the world to nothing more than the heat between her thighs, the screaming delight in her nerves. She almost didn’t realise when he came, when he pulled out of her. She was exactly where she needed to be, where the collar wanted her to be, and as long as people kept getting off because of her, all was well.  
It was the arrival of Pansy that brought her back to herself, at least briefly. Even through the magically-induced bliss she was experiencing, it was hard to feel anything but contempt for Pansy. The girl was, in so many ways, her antithesis. A small minded bully, petty and vicious, too stupid to ever get out from under Malfoy’s thumb. There were few people here she’d have less wanted to be used by. But then Pansy went and changed all that by kneeling behind her, flicking her tongue across her ass. Crabbe and Goyle had both left their last drops of cum there, and Pansy lapped up every last drop. It was a weird sensation, almost ticklish, but not unpleasant. Was she doing this for herself, Hermione wondered, or had Draco ordered her to get in there and clean up? And if so, why? Oh, was he planning to… but no, surely he wouldn’t sully his pure cock in her ass.  
Pansy lifted her head away, and Hermione whimpered, thrust her hips back, not wanting the sensation to end. She didn’t have to wait long. A finger replaced the tongue, pushing against her tight hole with surprising gentless. And, to judge from the slick sensation, a fair amount of lube. Small mercies. Pansy’s finger may have been gentle, but that didn’t make it any less insistent, and after a few moments it slipped inside of her. She couldn’t help but gasp. Her reaction drew a mocking laugh from behind her.  
“Wait till you feel who’s coming next,” Pansy sneered.  
A second finger joined the first, stretching her tight ass to where she thought she couldn’t take it a moment longer. The fingers thrust in, opening her wide, and after a few pushes she learned how to relax, how to let her hole spread itself. It still wasn’t easy, but it was bearable. What wasn’t bearable was the third finger, driven in right to the base. She cried out, tears streaming down her face as the other girl split her open. She couldn’t take any more of it, and she was relieved when Pansy slid her fingers out.  
“That was what I was told to do. This next bit is for me.”  
She flipped Hermione over, far more forcefully than necessary. There wasn’t time to react before Pansy brought her cunt hard up against Hermione’s face, pushing her back against the toilet. She tasted different to Ginny, muskier, almost cinammon spicy. Hermione flicked her tongue out to lick her, but Pansy reared back, slapped her hard across the face. The blow rattled her world, stunned her to silence.  
“Did I give you permission to lick me? Stay still and open your mouth, gryffinwhore.”  
What could Hermione do but obey? She lay there, mouth open, silent. Pansy sneered down to her and followed in Draco’s footsteps, releasing a powerful stream of piss. The warm golden fluid cascaded into her mouth, spilling out onto her face, her tits. It was heavier, saltier, pungent. Pansy clenched, cut off the stream, reached down to clasp Hermione’s lower jaw in her hands. She held it tight, held her mouth open so she couldn’t swallow.  
“Gargle. Gargle, bitch, I want you to taste me.”  
She did her best, she really did. Maybe it was a genuine desire to please, maybe it was just a fear of being blacklisted. But she tried to gargle Pansy’s awful piss. She couldn’t manage it for more than a moment or two. She gagged, spluttered, sent piss cascading down her body.  
“You’re an embarrassment.”  
The other girl slapped her across the face again, a vicious backhand that sent the last of the piss spilling to the floor. She stood, looming over Hermione.  
“We’ve got something special lined up for you.”  
She let out one last stream of piss, a golden torrent that splashed down on Hermione just below her navel, ran down to mix with all the other fluids on her sopping wet cunt. And, one final insult, she spat on Hermione before she turned to leave, a thick gob of spittle that fell right between her breasts.

Minutes passed before the next student came in. Hermione lay there in the filth of all that had happened, wondered what Ginny was up to at that moment. Had she found someone else to enjoy for the evening? That… well, that was an image she didn’t want. Out of everything that had happened, the idea of the redhead enjoying someone else’s company was the only thing that really upset her. To hell with the society’s rules, they were going to need to have a long talk after this.  
The cubicle door swung open, interrupted her revery. She didn’t recognise the student who’d stepped in, though the trim on his robes marked him as yet another Slytherin. He was tall, broad, maybe someone from the year above her? And he had a frankly predatory gleam in his eyes.  
“Let me just shut this,” he said, pushing the cubicle door to. That was new - Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson had all let it hang open, let their fellow students watch her debasement.  
“There are some things that are a little beyond the pale, even here, you know?”  
“What do you mean?” After everything she’d been through, she couldn’t imagine anything that would be considered too much here. Her pulse quickened, fear creeping in. Did they plan to do something violent? Some of them were definitely supporters of you-know-who, and it would make his plans a lot easier if she wasn’t around to help Harry.  
The older student responded with a smirk, a grin that spread from ear to ear, kept spreading, impossibly wide. His whole face was twisting with it, and it took her a moment to realise that his face was literally twisting, the bones shifting into new shapes. His jaw elongated, distended, flesh and muscle contorting into a muzzle. He hunched forward, his whole body changing, hair sprouting on every bare patch of skin. No, not hair - fur. An animagus. He’d shifted into a hulking German Shepard, huge in the cramped cubicle. No wonder he didn’t want to be seen - and unregistered animagus was a big deal, one that might be too much even for the Silver Society’s codes of silence.  
And, oh shit, he was here to fuck her. This panting dog was going to force her cunt open with the thick red monster that hung between his legs.  
Or, no. She remembered what Pansy had said. It wasn’t her cunt that this dog had come to claim. She scrambled back, heart pounding, but there was nowhere to go. He was on her in a moment, front paws on her shoulders, pinning her down. His claws were out, and they bit into her skin, little pin pricks of pain that weren’t even remotely enough to distract her from everything else that was happening. She wanted to cry out, to call for help, but he was up in her face, powerful jaw thrust towards her, a low snarl of warning. He could have taken her throat out in a single bite, finished her off before anyone else even knew she was in trouble.  
She froze. The only way out was through.  
“Okay,” she whispered, “okay, good boy. You do what you want.”  
He didn’t need telling twice. The slick, hot, tip of his thick dog cock pushed against her ass. And in hindsight the rough fucking Pansy had given her seemed almost like a mercy. They hadn’t let her go into this unprepared. Then again, the preparations didn’t count for much. Pansy’s fingers were nothing compared to this dog’s cock. It was vast. Impossible to believe that something that large could exist inside of her without tearing her apart. And then he snarled, drove forward, and she realised she’d only taken the tip.  
One small mercy - his canine cock leaked precum, a steady flow lubing up her hole as he thrust into her. It was impossible to think about anything else. Ten inches of inhuman meat filled her ass, and that was the whole of the world. Somewhere, distant, she knew that she was bleeding from her shoulders, her breasts, her arms, where his front paws had scratched her. Somewhere she knew she was crying out loud enough to shake the whole school down. Somewhere she knew the collar was twisting her body into spasms of pleasure she’d never imagined. But that was all distant. Someone else’s experience. Everything she was, everything she had ever been, would ever be, was a tight hole taking an impossibly large cock.

She knew, in a purely abstract sense, that when a dog was close to cumming the base of its cock would swell up. The knot, it was called. She’d read about it. It bound the dog to its mate, held the bitch there until her womb was full with every last drop. The abstract description had nothing on reality. The base of his cock grew and grew, a fist inside of her. She didn’t want to pull away any more - she was his little doggy bitch, that’s what she was here for, that’s what the collar wanted her to be. Which was good, because she couldn’t have pulled away. The knot inside of her locked them together, held her there while he shot load after load of canine seed into her bowels. There was no way that thing was coming out of her until it was done. All she could do was lay back, a shivering, sweating mess, dog slobber dripping down onto her face, dog cum squirting up her ass.  
Five minutes went by. Ten. Still he was in her. Still the collar told her this was right, this was good, this was what she deserved. Pleasure, agony, disgust, orgasm. They’d all melted into one, a single explosive sensation beyond names, beyond words. She was addicted, she already knew that. She’d find ways to draw the joker every month if it meant more of this. It was impossible to imagine going back to the nervous virgin she’d been just a few hours before, stood trembling in the anteroom. Her education was complete, and it was more world-changing than any education she got in the classrooms above.  
After fifteen minutes the knot finally shrank, and the dog slid out of her. She reached down, caught some of the waves of cum that came spilling out of her. She let it spill over her fingers, into her palm, and then drove her hand up into her cunt, smeared the dog jizz inside of her. She wanted this. If anyone was going to impregnate her tonight she wanted it to be this magnificent beast. Maybe he understood that. Maybe he just enjoyed seeing her change from victim to willing participant. Either way, he wore a smug grin as he shifted back to human form. He let her lick his cock clean, almost impressive in human form as it had been in dog, and then he was stepping back out of the cubicle, gone.

The night didn’t end there. Four more boys used her cunt before the party was over, one from each house. Luna fed her another load of piss, showed her how to take an entire fist in her pussy. Even Harry came close enough to cum in her hair while she was busy rimming Parvati. But that moment in the cubicle, reduced to a Slytherin dog’s willing bitch, that was the physical peak, the moment she realised just who she really was.  
And, as the night wound down, the emotional peak came when Ginny offered to walk her home, climbed into bed beside her when they got back to the dorms. Nothing more sexual passed between them, but the redhead curled up beside her and damn she had the softest skin. When Hermione finally went to sleep, her friend’s arm around her, it was the best night’s sleep she ever had. And, deep inside, she knew one of those loads of cum had done the trick, that a new life was already growing inside her. Perhaps drawing the joker hadn’t been such bad luck after all.

 


End file.
